Soldiers Three Volume I Part 39

G. Never--as long as he can see. But did they open out for poor Errington?

M. Oh, this is childis.h.!.+

G. I know it is, worse than that. I don't care. You've ridden Van Loo.

Is he the sort of brute to pick his way--'specially when we're coming up in column of troop with any pace on?

M. Once in a Blue Moon do we gallop in column of troop, and then only to save time. Aren't three lengths enough for you?

G. Yes--quite enough. They just allow for the full development of the smash. I'm talking like a cur, I know: but I tell you that, for the past three months, I've felt every hoof of the squadron in the small of my back every time that I've led.

M. But, Gaddy, this is awful!

G. Isn't it lovely? Isn't it royal? A Captain of the Pink Hussars watering up his charger before parade like the blasted boozing Colonel of a Black Regiment!

M. You never did!

G. Once only. He squelched like a _mussuck_, and the Troop-Sergeant-Major c.o.c.ked his eye at me. You know old Haffy's eye. I was afraid to do it again.

M. I should think so. That was the best way to rupture old Van Loo's tummy, and make him crumple you up. You _knew_ that.

G. I didn't care. It took the edge off him.

M. 'Took the edge off him'? Gaddy, you--you--you _mustn't_, you know!

Think of the men.

G. That's another thing I am afraid of. D'you s'pose they know?

M. Let's hope not; but they're deadly quick to spot skrim--little things of that kind. See here, old man, send the Wife Home for the hot weather and come to Kashmir with me. We'll start a boat on the Dal or cross the Rhotang--shoot ibex or loaf--which you please. Only _come!_ You're a bit off your oats and you're talking nonsense. Look at the Colonel--swag-bellied rascal that he is. He has a wife and no end of a bow-window of his own. Can any one of us ride round him--chalk-stones and all? I can't, and I think I can shove a crock along a bit.

G. Some men are different. I haven't the nerve. Lord help me, I haven't the nerve! I've taken up a hole and a half to get my knees well under the wallets. I can't help it. I'm so afraid of anything happening to me.

On my soul, I ought to be broke in front of the squadron, for cowardice.

M. Ugly word, that. I should never have the courage to own up.

G. I meant to lie about my reasons when I began, but--I've got out of the habit of lying to you, old man. Jack, you won't?--But I know you won't.

M. Of course not. (_Half aloud_.) The Pinks are paying dearly for their Pride.

G. Eh! Wha-at?

M. Don't you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever since she came to us.

G. 'Tisn't _her_ fault. Don't think that. It's all mine.

M. What does she say?

G. I haven't exactly put it before her. She's the best little woman in the world, Jack, and all that--but she wouldn't counsel a man to stick to his calling if it came between him and her. At least, I think--

M. Never mind. Don't tell her what you told me. Go on the Peerage and Landed-Gentry tack.

G. She'd see through it. She's five times cleverer than I am.

M. (_Aside._) Then she'll accept the sacrifice and think a little bit worse of him for the rest of her days.

G. (_Absently._) I say, do you despise me?

M. 'Queer way of putting it. Have you ever been asked that question?

Think a minute. What answer used you to give?

G. So bad as _that?_ I'm not ent.i.tled to expect anything more, but it's a bit hard when one's best friend turns round and--

M. So _I_ have found. But you will have consolations--Bailiffs and Drains and Liquid Manure and the Primrose League, and, perhaps, if you're lucky, the Colonelcy of a Yeomanry Cav-al-ry Regiment--all uniform and no riding, I believe. How old are you?

G. Thirty-three. I know it's--

M. At forty you'll be a fool of a J.P. landlord. At fifty you'll own a bath-chair, and The Brigadier, if he takes after you, will be fluttering the dovecotes of--what's the particular dunghill you're going to? Also, Mrs. Gadsby will be fat.

G. (_Limply._) This is rather more than a joke.

M. D'you think so? Isn't cutting the Service a joke? It generally takes a man fifty years to arrive at it. You're quite right, though. It is more than a joke. You've managed it in thirty-three.

G. Don't make me feel worse than I do. Will it satisfy you if I own that I am a s.h.i.+rker, a skrim-shanker, and a coward?

M. It will _not_, because I'm the only man in the world who can talk to you like this without being knocked down. You mustn't take all that I've said to heart in this way. I only spoke--a lot of it at least--out of pure selfishness, because, because--Oh, d.a.m.n it all, old man,--I don't know _what_ I shall do without you. Of course, you've got the money and the place and all that--and there are two very good reasons why you should take care of yourself.

G. 'Doesn't make it any the sweeter. I'm backing out--I know I am. I always had a soft drop in me somewhere--and I daren't risk any danger to _them._

M. Why in the world should you? You're bound to think of your family--bound to think. Er-hmm. If I wasn't a younger son I'd go too--be shot if I wouldn't!

G. Thank you, Jack. It's a kind lie, but it's the blackest you've told for some time. I know what I'm doing, and I'm going into it with my eyes open. Old man, I _can't_ help it. What would you do if you were in my place?

M. (_Aside._) 'Couldn't conceive any woman getting permanently between me and the Regiment. (_Aloud._) 'Can't say. 'Very likely I should do no better. I'm sorry for you--awf'ly sorry--but 'if them's your sentiments,' I believe, I really do, that you are acting wisely.

G. Do you? I hope you do. (_In a whisper._) Jack, be very sure of yourself before you marry. I'm an ungrateful ruffian to say this, but marriage--even as good a marriage as mine has been--hampers a man's work, it cripples his sword-arm, and oh, it plays h.e.l.l with his notions of duty! Sometimes--good and sweet as she is--sometimes I could wish that I had kept my freedom--No, I don't mean that exactly.

MRS. G. (_Coming down the veranda._) What are you wagging your head over, Pip?

M. (_Turning quickly._) Me, as usual. The old sermon. Your husband is recommending me to get married. 'Never saw such a one-ideaed man!

MRS. G. Well, why don't you? I daresay you would make some woman very happy.

G. There's the Law and the Prophets, Jack. Never mind the Regiment. Make a woman happy. (_Aside._) O Lord!

M. We'll see. I must be off to make a Troop Cook desperately unhappy.

I won't have the wily Hussar fed on Government Bullock Train s.h.i.+nbones--(_Hastily._) Surely black ants can't be good for The Brigadier. He's picking 'em off the matting and eating 'em. Here, Senor Commandante Don Grubbynose, come and talk to me. (_Lifts_ G. JUNIOR _in his arms._) 'Want my watch? You won't be able to put it into your mouth, but you can try. (G. JUNIOR _drops watch, breaking dial and hands._)

MRS. G. Oh, Captain Mafflin, I _am_ so sorry! Jack, you bad, bad little villain. Ahhh!